Reginald Hill - A pinch of snuff

'Where? In his study, it was.'

'And what did you talk about?'

'This and that,' said Blengdale. 'Cricket prospects for the summer. He was quite an enthusiast, Gilbert. The state of the nation. Just general stuff like that.'

'You didn't talk about the show you had just seen?'

'It might have been mentioned, but I think we'd said most of what there was to say about that downstairs.'

'And what time did you leave?'

'About eleven-thirty, I'd say. In fact, I'm pretty sure. I got back here just before midnight, which would be about right for the roads at that time of night. Gwen can confirm that, if you like.'

'I see,' said Pascoe. 'Did he say or do anything to give the impression of expecting company after your departure?'

'No, there was nothing of that,' said Blengdale. 'It was pretty late and I'd have noticed if he'd said anything like that. He looked like I felt, ready for bed. Is there anything to show he was expecting another visitor?'

'I can't say,' said Pascoe, thinking of the six weals on Haggard's buttocks.

'Well, there's nowt more I can tell you,' said Blengdale, rising. 'I'm a busy man and I'm right behind now. What a bloody day this has been! I'll see you to the door. Sorry I can't be more help. I'd offer you a drink, but I've heard that you're a bugger for duty.'

I'm getting the push, thought Pascoe as he found himself swiftly transferred to the front door, But he could think of no way of – or reason for – resisting the process.

But Blengdale wasn't quite finished with him. He seized his elbow tight and brought his face close to Pascoe's shoulder.

'What's going to happen to that dentist?' he asked.

'I'm sorry?'

'Burkill's my yard foreman. When he took off this morning, I made it my job to find out why.'

'Is he a good worker, Mr Blengdale?'

'Very fair. A bit bolshie, but show me a working man who isn't these days. And he's as tough with the men as he is with the management.'

'Do you know his family?'

'I've met his wife at a works dinner.'

'But you don't know Sandra, his daughter?'

'Never laid eyes on her. Why do you ask? Is there any doubt? The way Burkill talks, it's an open and shut case.'

'It's being investigated,' said Pascoe cautiously. 'We've got to move carefully.'

'I suppose so,' said Blengdale. 'Bloody women can say owt and get away with it. Look, I'm sorry if I said anything out of place about your missus just now. I'm old-fashioned, you see. Not used to fighting with women, so I look around for their menfolk to have a go at. That used to be the way of it. Gwen, my love, the Inspector's just going.'

'Goodbye, Mr Pascoe,' said Gwen Blengdale who had appeared from the garden bearing a bunch of narcissi. 'Would your wife like these, do you think? I'm thinning them out and it's such a shame to waste them.'

'That's most kind of you,' said Pascoe. 'She'll be delighted, I know.'

He took the flowers and laid them beside him on the passenger seat of the car.

Blengdale spoke through the window.

'You have much to do with Andy Dalziel?'

'Well, yes. He's my boss, in fact,' said Pascoe.

'Is he? Well, you've got my sympathy. He's a right hard bastard, that one. Cheerio, Inspector.'

'Cheerio,' said Pascoe.

'And take it easy down the drive,' said Blengdale, adding, as Pascoe wondered how to respond to this solicitude, 'That bloody Z-car stuff knocks hell out of the gravel.'

Dinner went well that night.

He arrived home at six-thirty to smell his favourite roast duck just beginning to spit in the oven and to find between the front door and the bedroom a trail of garments which even a Chief Constable could have followed without difficulty.

'What,' he said to Ellie as they lay on the patch-work counterpane, 'would you have done if I'd been late?'

'Eaten cold duck,' she answered. 'Now tell me, what kind of day have you had?'

'The last fifty minutes have been great.'

'A nothing,' she said. 'An appetizer. A mere prolegomenon. Let's start eating. I mean literally.'

'Anything new on the political front?' he enquired as they scraped the green flesh from their avocados.

'We had a meeting this afternoon,' said Ellie. 'God, that man Blengdale!'

'The fascist pig who feathers his own sty,' said Pascoe.

'I couldn't get the words out properly,' said Ellie, shamefaced. 'Hey, how do you know I said that?'

'We have our sources. What brought on that particular bit of abuse?'

'Well, I had a phone call at lunch-time. It was your dentist friend…'

'Shorter?' said Pascoe, amazed.

'No. Thelma Lacewing. Did you know she was related to Blengdale?'

'Yes.'

'That's the trouble with being married to a policeman.'

'What did she want?'

'Well, first of all she wondered if I'd care to lunch with her one day this week. She thinks I may be interested in WRAG. But then, just before she rang off, she asked me what the college staff thought about the place becoming a country club. I thought she was joking, of course, but no, she insisted, very cool, that that's what she'd heard. Close the college, bring the survivors into town and lease the site and buildings to a private consortium for development into a combined country club and sports complex!'

Pascoe whistled.

'Sounds a bit far-fetched!' he said.

'That's what I thought till I saw Blengdale's face when I mentioned it,' said Ellie grimly. 'I've no doubt about it. I've been on to the local papers, the lot. We'll soon ferret out the truth. But you haven't told me how you know what I said to God.'

Pascoe hesitated. Usually he was very careful not to discuss his cases too closely with Ellie. It wasn't a matter of trust, merely of professionality. Like a priest or a doctor, he mocked himself. But such olive branches as had been waved in his direction tonight deserved more than self-righteous reticence.

'Typical,' said Ellie after he'd finished. 'If the bastard was mixed up with Haggard, he's even rottener than I thought. I'm sure Ms Lacewing would disapprove but would you like to assert your masculinity and carve the duck. How was she, by the way? As a dentist, I mean?'

She'd done it with cherries, his favourite. Might as well be hung for a duck as a lamb, thought Pascoe.

Ellie listened fascinated.

'My God!' she said. 'You can't get away from it, can you, Peter? What exactly is the girl alleging?'

'I've no idea. Dalziel was seeing her this afternoon, I think.'

'Poor sod,' said Ellie.

'The girl? Or Dalziel?' said Pascoe.

'Shorter. Innocent or guilty the poor sod's in for a rough time. What do you think, Peter?'

'I don't know. I can't really believe it, but I haven't had a chance to talk to him.'

'But you were there,’ said Ellie.

'Jack was being patched up. And when Dalziel arrived he kept us well apart. Also he suggested we should stay well apart.'

'Did he?' said Ellie. 'Afraid of friendship, is he?'

'He just doesn't want either of us to run the risk of this man Burkill stirring up hints of collusion, that's all. In any case, I'm not sure that I am a friend of Shorter's in any real sense.'

'You confide your fantasies to him.'

'One of my fantasies,' said Pascoe. 'I've never had any of his in return.'

'Perhaps you have now,' said Ellie.

They ate their duck in silence for a while. The skin cracked between the teeth and was sharply flavoured. The rich meat slid and crumbled and dissolved against the tongue.

'What does fat Andy think?' asked Ellie.

'Thumbs down. I think he's building up to claiming foresight. Last week when I told him what Shorter said about that film, his only reaction was that people like dentists and doctors shouldn't react to erotic stimuli. Since then Shorter's been accused of assaulting a minor and his film theory's turned out to be a load of cock. Dalziel reckons he was just trying to pave the way for the revelation he knew must come.'